A Romantic Tale
by Mertiya
Summary: Just a bit of sap I wrote awhile back. Someone Snape never hoped to see again shows up when least expected. SnapeOC. I don't THINK it's a Mary Sue see author's noteoneshot


**A/N: **First off, I wrote this quite some time ago, so it doesn't really reflect my current writing style and it is unbelievably soaked in sap. It is quite possibly the sappiest thing I ever wrote, with the possible exception of the other Harry Potter fic I'm about to upload. It's AU; it ignores HBP, mainly because I wrote it before that came out. Yes, it does have an OC. I don't think she's a Mary Sue, because her geneology is legitimate, and this is really more about Snape than her anyway, in a way. Please no flames! I know this is not my best work, but it's quite fun, so I thought I'd upload it anyway.

**Disclaimer**: And I don't, in fact, own Harry Potter. Sadly.

**A Romantic Tale**

Anemone swallowed as she heaved her suitcase onto her bed in the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher's bedroom. She had not been at Hogwarts since she graduated, and she wasn't sure what to expect. Not to mention the various rumors that this job was jinxed. That was nonsense, of course, but…it made one think. Tiredly, she sank onto her bed and looked about the room.

It was a small room, rather sparsely furnished. At one end was a round window, with panes of multi-colored glass embedded in it. There was a large mahogany wardrobe in one corner, covered with a myriad of weird, fantastic carvings. There was also a worn antique chair with legs so twisted and thin it looked as though it would collapse if anyone tried to sit in it. The bed was covered in a thin, silky black fabric. Anemone W-Clark, she reminded herself, she was Anemone _Clark_, began to pull her black shoes off. There was a knock at the door.

Anemone started, then called, "Come in!"

The man who entered was in his early forties. Black hair falling to his chin framed a cool, sardonic face. His eyes were dark and carefully shadowed. Anemone stared for a moment, uncomprehending, and then she remembered…it had been a good sixteen years, but she knew him--how could she not? "Severus!" she gasped.

Snape's eyes widened suddenly. He looked her up and down with shock and astonishment.

"I-I thought McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore were the only ones still here who had known me!" Anemone stammered, immediately cursing herself for giving herself away.

Snape crossed the room in two steps and, staring, put his hand on her arm. Then, obviously realizing that he was betraying far more emotion than was customary for him, he dropped his arm quickly and looked at her. "You were reported dead, Miss W--"

"Shhh!" Anemone put a finger to her lips and shook her head violently. "My name is Anemone Clark," she said formally, putting a sharp emphasis on the second name. "I have been traveling abroad and have only recently returned. On my return, I was pleased to accept the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher here at Hogwarts."

She extended her hand. Snape's eyes, which she had often seen narrow in contempt or disapproval, narrowed this time with confusion and slight suspicion. "I am pleased to meet you…Miss _Clark_," he said pointedly in his deep, drawling voice.

Anemone gave him a small smile. "Thank you, Professor," she said, cheerfully. "Er…why were you coming to see me?"

"I merely wished to see for myself the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Clark," he said with the characteristic slight sneer Anemone remembered so well.

_Poor Severus. He always did want the DADA post,_ Anemone thought. She had been on--first name terms when she had last seen him. They had shared some very--interesting--experiences a little over sixteen years ago. She smiled at him. She knew he was crotchety and repressed and contemptuous and angry and all of that--but she knew him inside-out, and they'd been through a lot together--and there were--other things, she admitted to herself.

Snape looked at her for a moment, and then, slowly, very slowly, as though frozen muscles were thawing, he smiled back.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron sat nervously at their desks in the Potions classroom. Potions was not a favorite with any of them. Even Hermione said that being taught by Snape did tend to make class a little less than enjoyable. Harry was tapping his foot anxiously--Snape really didn't like him, which made things even worse-- and Ron was frankly quaking in his boots.

"I hate Potions," Ron moaned out of the corner of his mouth to Harry. "Oh, I hate Potions."

The appearance of the Potions classroom didn't help much. The classroom--really a dungeon--had flickering torches lining the walls, which cast an eerie glow around the room. An old, oaken cupboard at one side, where Snape kept his supplies for the class, looked like some lurking monster in the dim light. Snape himself, who usually swooped around the class like an overgrown bat, added to the mysterious, almost spine-chilling atmosphere.

"Good morning, class," said Snape's sardonic voice from behind them, as he walked quickly in front to his desk. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared in astonishment. Snape's hair was washed and brushed and hanging about his ears without the lank, oily look it usually had. His robes were clean and pressed, all the rips mended neatly and carefully. His wand, which was usually moldy with disuse when the class saw it at all, hung by his side, polished so much it was almost shining.

"What happened to him?" Ron muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"Dunno," Harry muttered back, his round eyes still fixed unblinkingly on his Potions master.

Snape, apparently aware of their scrutiny, turned his cold eyes on Harry.

"Mr. Potter," he said, silkily.

"Yes, sir?"

"What about me is so interesting that you cannot bear to tear your eyes away?" he asked.

"Er…" Harry stuttered, as the Slytherins all rocked with laughter. "Er…nothing, sir."

"While I am quite aware that I am a fascinating teacher," Snape continued, accompanied by uproarious cheers from the Slytherins. "It would nevertheless be a pity if you were so lost in thought you forgot about the lesson. I need hardly remind you, Mr. Potter, that your grade needs no lowering."

Harry flushed and dropped his gaze. Snape turned his attention away from the embarrassed Gryffindor and began to explain to the class how to make a potion that would put the drinker to sleep for however long the maker intended. Before long, the class set to work. Ron, working feverishly, but as it turned out, quite wrongly, ended up being given a detention for the following day after school. Ron went as white as a sheet, and as soon as Snape had left, hissed to Harry, "Harry! Tomorrow's Quidditch practice! Angelina will _kill_ me!"

"Ah, shoot," muttered Harry. "Maybe Snape'll let you off?"

"Huh," Ron snorted glumly.

"Er…maybe not. Maybe we can ask one of the teachers to ask him?"

"Who would he listen to? Dumbledore wouldn't interfere, that's for sure."

Harry checked his schedule. "We have Defense Against the Dark Arts next. It's a new teacher."

"What, you thought we were going to have an old teacher? Let's see, we've had Voldemort symbiotes, we've had air-brained memory-charmers, we've had werewolves, we've had Voldemort supporter-polyjuice-potion-drinkers, and we've had evil, twisted witches employed by the Ministry of Magic…you think we're going to have one of those again?"

Harry grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Ron, I wasn't exactly thinking."

"Yeah, well, we've only ever once had a nice teacher, so what's the likelihood we'll--" he broke off as they entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

Their teacher was already there, sitting behind the desk. She was looking at some papers she was apparently grading. Long auburn hair fell to her shoulders, and her half-hidden eyes were a sparkling green. A sprinkling of freckles dotted her nose.

"Whoa…" Harry said. Hermione came panting in after them.

"What is the _matter_ with you two?" she demanded, following their gaze. She looked at the new teacher sitting behind the desk, and a slight frown creased her face.

"Hmmm," she muttered.

"What is it, Hermione?" Ron asked.

"She looks like someone I've seen, somewhere…" Hermione said distractedly. She shook her head and took her seat. As the class finished filing into the room, the teacher looked up from her work. She smiled charmingly, causing several of the boys in the class to look back with dreamy expressions on their face.

"Honestly!" Harry heard Hermione mutter under her breath.

"Good morning, class," the woman said. "My name is Anemone--Clark--and I am your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I hope you will have a good time in this class, though from what I've heard, it hasn't been all that good up until now, excepting, of course, your third year."

"Wow, she knows _everything_," Ron whispered to Harry.

"Mr….Weasley? Is it not? Please do not talk while I'm talking."

Ron blushed right to his ears and stuttered, "Sorry, ma'am."

"That's quite all right. Now, I think we'd better start with a quick practical test to see in which areas you have been well-taught, and in which areas you may need more instruction."

After class was over, Harry and Ron approached her desk. "Er…" Ron began, flushing as she smiled at him.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley?"

"Er…last lesson I…er…got a detention from Professor Snape, and…um…it happens to be scheduled at…uh…an inconvenient time, and I was wondering…?"

"I can't get you off the detention, if that's what your asking," Professor Clark replied.

"No! Er, no, I was just hoping you could persuade the Professor to let me have it a day when the Gryffindors don't have Quidditch practice."

Professor Clark nodded. "Yes, I think that I could try that, Mr. Weasley."

"Thank you!" Ron said fervently, glad that the ordeal of asking her was over.

"But you'd better come with me. Mr. Potter, you should go."

"Oh…um…all right," Harry said.

Ron, looking frankly terrified, swallowed and squeaked, "Yes, I'll come."

"All right then; let's go."

Ron followed her out of the room, not before casting a 'help me' look at Harry. Harry shrugged and smiled encouragingly, but he didn't think Ron looked too comforted.

Half an hour later, Ron arrived in the common room, sweating and pale.

"What happened?" Harry asked anxiously.

"It's okay. I can take my detention the day after tomorrow and not miss Quidditch practice."

"That's great, mate! What's the problem?" he asked, because he could see Ron still looked shaky.

"Do you know how she got Snape to let me off tomorrow?" Ron asked in a dazed voice; then continued without letting Harry replied. "Snape says, 'I will not change a detention time for any student,' and she looks him up and down and then she says, 'Not even if I come to dinner with you tonight?' and Snape goes incredibly red and sort of blinks and says, 'I suppose I might make an exception in Mr. Weasley's case' and Professor Clark smiles and says, 'Come along, Ronald,' and I follow and we leave and that's that!"

"Whoa," Harry gasped. "She invited herself to dinner with _Snape_?! I can't believe it!"

"Yeah, that's bad enough, but that Snape agreed?" Ron said limply.

"Er, yeah, that was a bit weird," Harry acquiesced.

The portrait swung open suddenly, to admit a radiant Hermione. "I've figured it out!" she cried jubilantly.

"What?" Harry asked, still slightly in shock after Ron's news.

"Who our new teacher is! Who she must be! Look here," she thrust an old newspaper at Harry and Ron. "I was researching something for Professor Binns, and I came across this."

It was a clipping from an old copy of _The Daily Prophet_. There was a photograph of a laughing young girl, with long auburn hair and sparkling green eyes. She was waving at the camera.

The article read, "Anemone Weasley, the brilliant young Auror, died this morning at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies. Miss Weasley was brought in yesterday with serious injuries and reportedly died without regaining consciousness. The Order of Merlin, First Class, has been sent to her closest relative, her older brother Mr. Arthur Weasley, who works at the Ministry of Magic in the Department of Muggle Artifacts. Mr. Weasley, who was visited at home earlier this morning, was holding his youngest child, Ronald, and declined to comment. Speculations on how Miss Weasley received her injuries and Order of Merlin are widespread.

--Alice Swade, Special Correspondent"

"No way," gasped Ron. "She's my _aunt_?! She can't be! See, it says here, 'died this morning'. This person is dead."

"Perhaps," Hermione replied.

"What d'you mean, '_perhaps_'?! It says here, 'died this morning'!"

"Well, yes, but supposing she didn't die?"

"Er…well…I mean…"

"And doesn't it look _exactly_ like her?"

"I…I suppose…oh…" Ron moaned, suddenly, clutching his head in panic. "My _aunt_ is dating _Snape_! The end of the world has come at last!"

_"Anemone," Snape's usually pale face was suffused with color._

_"Yes, Severus?" she turned to him. They were waiting in his house, unsafe but safer than Anemone's, which was probably being ransacked by Death Eaters now. She had escaped by the skin of her teeth today, and Snape was shaken to the core. He knew how dangerous both of their professions were, but he had never thought about it before, not until he saw the long, thin, still-pink scar across Anemone's back, where a curse had barely scraped her during her escape. An Unforgivable curse. The worst Unforgivable curse. _

_Anemone smiled at him in her characteristically cheerful manner, waiting for him to finish what he was saying._

_"Anemone, I--" he'd never said anything, mentioned anything like this to her. What if she just laughed? Snape had never been very secure about his relationships with others--his insecurity had been trebled after his experiences at school. But he had a horrible feeling that something terrible was going to happen, and he had to tell her._

_"I--" he blushed. Anemone smiled at him. "Oh, Severus, you're so transparent," she giggled, light-hearted and bubbly as always, still half a schoolgirl even at nineteen._

_Her giggle was soft and all of a sudden she tilted her head up and kissed him softly. "Is that what you were trying to say?" she asked, her voice gentle._

_"Er…well, yeah…"_

_"Thanks," Anemone murmured quietly. Then, "Look, I have to go. I'd love to stay for just a little, but I have to go undercover tonight. Now that Voldemort's gone, the only danger is the Deatheaters, but they are a very real danger."_

_Snape barely restrained himself from saying, "Then why are you being exposed to them?", but caught himself in time, and reminded himself once more that no matter how much she seemed like a schoolgirl, she was, in reality, a trained Auror._

_"Wait…" he whispered hoarsely, and she turned to him, a question in her eyes. He caught her to him for one last kiss, and she melted in his arms. He escorted her to the door. She turned the handle and, after one last merry laugh, she was gone. Snape fell into his bed, his thoughts brim-full of a mischievous redhead…he'd never liked the Weasleys, he speculated idly, but, after all, there was a first for everything._

_ He woke early and read the morning's paper. As he came to the fateful article, he felt his heart stop._

_He hurried to St. Mungo's without sparing a thought for anything, anyone else, but they wouldn't even let him see the body. Snape spent the rest of the day sitting in his rooms with his head in his hands, alternately weeping and feeling a cold chill of hatred for the murderer, Sirius Black, sweep over him. He knew the cause of Anemone's injuries. She had been undercover as a Muggle. Anemone--his first and only love-- had survived Voldemort's regime only to die a week later. A bitter irony._

_So Snape came back to school, a cold, bitter teacher. And so it had remained until yesterday--the day he had seen her alive, alive. But how could she be alive?_

Anemone felt her heart beat quickly as she put on clean, bottle-green dress robes, preparatory to her dinner with Snape. She brushed her auburn hair back and pinned it with a barrette that was shaped into a fluttering green butterfly. She walked hastily to Snape's room, but knocked hesitantly.

"Come in!" Snape called. His voice sounded hard and inflexible, not the softer tones of the Severus she had known. Anemone sighed. Time and hardship changed people, but she had somehow held a feeble hope that Snape would be the Snape of sixteen years ago, that he would step out from the past, whole and unchanged.

She pushed open the door and walked in. The room was larger than hers, and dimly lighted. Black draperies hung the walls. Anemone's eyes adjusted slowly to the gloom, and she could see a table covered in a black table cloth in the center of the room. She glanced around, not seeing Snape, and he suddenly materialized from the background, wearing black robes which blended him perfectly with the dark room.

"And how are you this evening, _Anemone_?" he asked smoothly, a bitter twist quirking the once-handsome lines of his mouth.

"Severus, please--"

"What?" The tone was perfectly courteous, but within it Anemone could hear a touch of carefully masked bitter hurt.

"I wasn't permitted to tell anyone, for fear of compromising my--cover." Even as she spoke, she was aware of how feeble the excuse was.

"I'm sure…I do hope you've had a good sixteen years?" Snape asked, still icily polite.

"Severus--I tried to contact you--they nearly threw me out!" She hadn't meant to say that. The agonized words had been ripped from her--and yet, she had seen him looking at her earlier, when she invited herself to dinner--had he been so unguarded in that moment?

"I know…" His voice was so low she could barely hear it. "But can you not imagine what it felt like, Anemone? That you had died, the week after the end of Voldemort's collapse? Just when it seemed as though everyone should be rejoicing, and then…" He sank down into a chair, burying his white face in his long-fingered hands.

"Severus!" She ran to him. "Please--I didn't mean to do _this_ to you!"

When he looked up, she thought she saw a glimpse of the familiar sardonic humor returning to his eyes. "I shall simply have to find a way to erase sixteen years," he drawled, but his voice lacked the bitterness it had held only moments before. She leaned forward into his arms, and their lips touched…a moment later, the chair went over with a crash. Snape picked himself up and helped her up, rather red in the face. "Er…those chairs don't balance very well," he muttered. "What say we continue with dinner?"

"That would be lovely," Anemone murmured, reaching out a gentle hand to touch his face lightly.


End file.
